Does It Really Matter?
by ashmathsvhs
Summary: I think the letter says it all, it's not your fault. Things will never change, I'm sorry I never said how much you really meant. Now though, your gone so does it really matter? It hurts her to know that Peyton could just walk away like that, could all of this really be gone? Breyton one-shot, past season four.
1. Chapter 1

Summary- I think the letter says it all, it's not your fault. Things will never change, I'm sorry I never said how much you really meant. Now though, Peyton's gone so does it really matter? Breyton one-shot, past season four.

A/N- This is my first published story on . It's Breyton; I love how easy it is to write for them because of how much emotion can be put into it. This is a standalone piece but if you guys like it I may make it a chapter fic, or have a sequel to it. I hope you guys like it! Reviews are always welcome.

Disclaimer- I own nothing that associates with One Tree Hill, or the Theory of a Deadman lyric that are in the summary.

Does It Really Matter…?

August 28th, 2012

My walls are filled with memories of you. Most walls are filled with plaster, wood, maybe cement. My walls, those are held up by forgotten promises, and broken dreams. My whole house really, all of it filled with you. I miss you, every day I spend missing you. My heart physically aches; it's as if a hole was carved into it. With a knife engraved with your name, it twisted and went deeper and deeper until you could see straight through it.

I hang up pictures, metaphorically of course, all around the house: only to reach up and tear them back down. I find myself questioning why you left, but it's pointless really. I know why you left, and I do not blame you, at all. I wasn't the person you needed me to be. I was rough around the edges of my heart, and you needed me to be polished. You were ready for commitment; I had trouble looking past next week. We were just too different in the end. I can assure you of one thing though, I loved you. You would probably scoff at that: tell me I couldn't love you because I don't even know what love is. Looking back I understand why you said that. It wasn't because you didn't love me; it was because the only love I knew wasn't love at all.

You didn't want to be loved like that, and I don't blame you Peyton. I _understand_ that, but I know that my love for you was real. That if we put our love up against the other, mine would have stretched far past yours. I just want you know that. I want you to _know_ that I would have done _absolutely_ anything for you. I would have broken myself for your happiness. I just want you to understand that. To see that I was _honest_ with you.

With Love, Brooke

"Wow. That is really something." You were angry; you had that look in your eyes. The one you would give me after I had flirted with some guy while we were out or after I wore your clothes and didn't put it right back. It still has the same effect on me.

"Listen, I never even thought you would read that! I just wanted to get it off my chest that day. You can't expect me to just be okay, to be okay with you leaving me. You can't expect me to never have those kinds of feelings!" I spoke with authority. You weren't going to make me feel like I was less than you. This affected me just as much, if not more, as it did you.

"Oh, cut the shit Brooke. You left that letter on your coffee table. You knew, knew, I was coming over to pick up my stuff. So why didn't you move it? Huh? If you didn't want me to find it and read it, why didn't you move it?" I didn't say anything, you were right. Why didn't I move it? Why didn't I put it away, somewhere where I know you wouldn't look. I didn't do that though, no, I didn't even think about it. You start to talk again, I snap out of my silent thoughts.

"That's what I thought. You're the same exact person I left. You haven't changed a bit. I don't know why I thought you would though, people don't change. It's always the same bullshit excuses, same hurt eyes, same everything with you." You walk towards what was our room, you go inside, and slam the door shut. The walls seem to shake with fear about what we're coming to, they're scared for us. I'm pretty sure you locked the door, so much for a quiet evening with just my thoughts to keep me company.

Two hours later you're walking out of our, mine now I suppose, room carrying a box at a time. Your blonde curls are up and framing your face with that entire frizz, your shirt was rumpled, you looked a mess. Beautiful still, I was positive that would never change. I pushed myself off the couch and walked over to you.

"Here, let me help." I reach to take the box, my hand grazes over yours in the process. You flinch as if I burned you.

"Really, that's fine. Wouldn't want you to chip a nail." You pull the box away from me and walk out the door.

When you return ten minutes later, I follow you into the room shutting the door behind me.

"Open the door. I have to get this done now; I'm meeting someone at work. It's _important_."

"They can wait, I'm sure. I'm not leaving until we work this out. I love you, and I think you love me back. So, no, I'm not opening this door." I stare straight into those green eyes that make me weak. You slowly walk over to me, and you press your body directly against mine.

"Open the damn door, Brooke."

"No! Not until we talk!" You're not moving away from me. I just want you to know that I miss you, more than anything. I want you to listen to me and then take me back. We don't always get what we want though. The least I want is for you to tell me you'll listen to what I have to say.

"Why don't you understand, I don't want to talk! Not now, not tomorrow, probably not ever." You turn around and start packing up more of your things. I think I hear you trying to hide the sounds of crying, but I'm not sure. I walk over to you and sit on the floor close to where you're packing.

"Look, it's just…my life has always been this big mess. I was always trying to please someone: my parents, boys, anyone really. Then you came into my life. I didn't need to try and impress you. Finally, I had found someone who cared about me. Someone who was just interested in me. I didn't have to pretend anymore. That can't be gone, Peyton. I still need that. I need you. I have to have you be in my life."

I was crying, you just sat in front of me, not looking at me. You kept packing up your boxes. I had given you everything that I possibly could. Maybe you were right all those nights ago, maybe we aren't meant to be. Maybe you should leave, and then we shouldn't talk, we should be the ghost of each other. All I could do now is let you go.

Then you turned around.


	2. Chapter 2

I thought you were going to turn around and tell me it was all okay. I figured by the end of the night you would be back at home with me, we'd go to bed together, and everything would be the way it was supposed to be. Things don't happen like that in real life though.

What happens in real life is that I end up getting drunk at a lonely bar that we used to go to in high school, before all of this got complicated. What happens is that you turn around with sad eyes, an even sadder smile, and you shake your head at me. That's what really happens.

Three Hours Earlier

You turn around and look at me. For some reason, I know that you aren't about to say everything is okay. For some reason, I know that you are about to say exactly what I don't want to hear.

"It's just, Brooke. God, way does this have to be so hard. Just-I'm so sor-"

No. No, no, no! You don't get to do this to me. We don't end here today. We can't be over. I love you so much, it hurts. Feel this." I pull your hand over to my chest. I lay it against my heart.

"Do you feel that? That's what you do to me. I cannot lose you. You can't walk away from this. I'm begging you, don't leave. Don't open that door." You just shook your head at me. You sat there, softly shaking your head, side to side, and I knew. It all just clicked. You wanted it to be over; you didn't want the same things anymore.

I pulled myself up, and sat on the bed. I put my head in my trembling hands. I was sobbing. The kind where my stomach hurt and I was getting light headed.  
"I never wanted it to be like this. I wish we could be together and that everything would go the way you want it to be. It just can't. I'm sorry for-"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

"Brooke, c'mon don't be like that."

"Shut the fuck up! Stop fucking talking to me. Get out. Leave, pack up the rest of your shit and leave!" I stood up, walked over to the door, and left. I threw the door closed so quickly and with a strong force that the walls shook. I heard a picture frame hit the floor, and I hope it was the one of us on our first anniversary.

Present Time

"I think you've had enough, Miss."

"Listen here bar boy, I'll tell you when I've had enough. And that's not now, so until you just keep on pouring." I could hear myself slurring and stumbling on my words. I didn't care though. I just wanted to get drunk enough to forget about it. Forget about you.

"I'm cutting you off, and you can either call someone to come get you, or I can call a cab for you. It's up to you, either way though, you are cut off."

"I'll call someone." I snapped at him, and then I rolled my eyes and dug around for my phone. I looked everywhere and couldn't find it. I must have left it at the house. Damn it. That's just great.

"Uhm, I can't find my phone…"

"I'll call you a cab then." He walks off to the other side of the bar.

I feel terrible. My heads pounding, I can't think straight, and all I want is to be home. Home, that place isn't really home anymore its just four walls with pictures that don't mean anything now.

Three years of my life wasted, time that is completely gone now. I wonder if you're even thinking about me. Probably not. You're probably sitting in your new apartment all cozy, you're probably happy.

"Hey. I called the cab company and they can't get anyone out here right now. It'll at least be an hour. Are you sure there isn't anyone you can call?"

"I don't have a phone, bar tender. You been drinking on the job?" I laugh loudly. It comes off harsh and fake to my ears. My head just keeps getting heavier and more clouded the longer I sit here.

"Here, you can use my phone. Actually you can just tell me the number and I'll talk to whomever."

"It's 907-366-7207."

I don't know what possessed me to give him that number. I just said it without even thinking. I mean, I don't want to see you, not tonight; in fact I don't want to see you ever. I'm so mad at you. Even thinking about it makes me fill with that burning inside of me. I feel hot tears against my cheeks. Of course you make me cry in public.

That's so like you; to make me breakdown in front of people. Before you, I would have went to a bar and then hooked up with one of the guys there. I would have forgotten about you. I could still do that.

"Yo, bar boy! I have an idea." I smile at him, and try to make my eyes twinkle like they used to.

"What's that?"

"How about I just come home with you. I'm sure we could find something to do. Something fun." I winked at him and lightly ran my tongue over my lips. I just wanted to feel something.

"Well your friend should be on the way now, so it seems that'll have to wait." I leaned across the bar; I ran my fingertips over his arm. I didn't want to see Peyton. I couldn't handle it, not yet.

"I don't think so, you're a little drunk."

The bartender, who I now know as Blake, is up cleaning the bar. It's been twenty one minutes since he called you. You should probably be here in just a second. Fantastic. I didn't even feel that drunk anymore. And I still have to ride all the way home with you. Like I said, fantastic. I laid my head onto the table in front of me.

"Your rides here; just walk outside. She's waiting for you out there, right by the door.


	3. Chapter 3

I stand up, grab my purse, and straighten up my wrinkled clothes. Then I walk over to the door.

"Bye, Blake. Thanks for all the drinks." I'm feeling odd, drunk still, but too coherent for what I'm about to endure.

"See you later. Hopefully when you're in a better mood."

He holds open the door for me. Then he locks it behind me. Peyton is glaring at me through the windshield of her car. She's pissed off. I wish I could just walk home. Instead though, I climb into my ex-girlfriends car. She wastes no time pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

"Buckle up. I'm not getting a ticket because of your drunken ass." I point my squinted eyes at her.

"Don't cuss at me."

"God, you're one to tell me what the hell to do. Here you are at one thirty in the morning, drunk, calling me to come pick you up. Just like high school, huh?"

"It's nothing like high school. I'm not that girl anymore."

"Yeah, sure you aren't. That's why you're drunk, and don't have a way home. But I'm actually surprised about that last one. Seems like before you always a ride home, and then you know, someone to ride."

I was so mad at you right then. Why couldn't you just allow me to have a little bit of dignity? Why couldn't you just leave me alone? I didn't say anything for the rest of the ride home, when we pulled into my driveway I felt those hot tears build up behind my eyes. I would not cry right now. You've seen enough of my tears lately.

"Thanks for the ride. Don't worry though, it won't be happening again." I sounded pathetic: worn down, so sad, and just over all defeated.

You didn't say anything and I was okay with that. I needed you to be silent. I needed you to let me have this, to just let me walk away from you without all the unanswered questions that you bring to me. I walked up to my front porch, unlocked the door, and I turned around one last time. You were already gone. I walked into my house, made my way to the living room. I suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of sorrow. I couldn't do this anymore. I was tired of feeling broken. I was tired of wanting you to come back and getting nothing but rejection in return. So starting now, I'm done with it and done with you. But that's a lie; I know all of that is a lie. I'll never be able to quit you.

I've been asleep for what feels like minutes, but is really an hour or two when my phone buzzes next to me. I'm no longer drunk, yet I'm feeling even foggier now. I lean over the rumpled silk, and unplug my phone from the charger; three new text messages, all from Peyton.

I know that I shouldn't read them. I know that it's a bad idea, that they're all probably you telling me how irresponsible I am and how you know we aren't meant to be together. But I have to read them. I just have to know, there is always possibility that it's something different.

Message Number One: Hey are you awake? I really need to talk to you. Text me back if you're up.

Message Number Two: Brooke, please wake up. It's important. Don't ignore me, I really need to talk to you. Now.

Message Number Three: I'm coming over.

The last one was sent ten minutes ago. You should be here in another ten. What the hell could be so important that you need to talk to me at three thirty in the morning? I wish it could be about how you realize this was all a mistake and you need me as much as I need you. But I know that's not it. I brush my teeth and pull my hair up. I leave on my worn out grey sweatshirt and pajama shorts. I walk downstairs and put on a pot of coffee. And then I wait for you. In a way I feel like I'm always waiting on you; whether it was in a physical or an emotional way. I'm getting lost in my thoughts when the door opens. I forgot you still had your key.

Your hair is all wet, and I'm suddenly running my eyes up your body. Stopping on all of the curves and swells I've spent many hours exploring. I'm suddenly a little out of breath.

"It's raining. And uhm, I didn't have an umbrella. That's why I'm all wet." I didn't say anything, I just stared at you. I was mad. Mad that you thought it was okay to just come over, that you were toying with me. After two minutes, I decided to ask you a basic question.

"What do you want Peyton?" I could hear the malice that lined my voice, and I hoped you could too.

"To talk."

"To talk? Are you fucking serious? You're unbelievable! I tried to talk. I tried, I tried every-"

"Listen, it's just, I had time. I had time to think about everything, about you, about us."

"Stop. I don't want to hear this. There isn't an _us_ anymore. You made that very clear. Get out. I don't, can't, look at you anymore." Tears were coming out so fast that I couldn't even wipe them away. I turned "Why can't you just leave me alone?! I'm sick of crying. Of walking around like a ghost. You knew this wasn't fair to me. None of _this_ is fair! And now I look stupid, because all I've wanted for the past month is for you to say this to me, but no, you _didn't_. So I'm trying to put my life back together Peyton. Do you get that? You ruined me, and now I have to tell you this isn't what I want. When it's all I've been asking for!" I turn around and wipe my eyes. I'm breathing heavily and I just want all of this to stop.

"I can't leave you alone because you're a part of me. And as much as I would like to switch that off, and walk out that door, never bother you again, I can't. That kills me, Brooke. I don't want to be here. Doing what I'm doing to you, but I tried to stay away. I tried to move out, to forget about you, to wipe you away! It's not that easy though."

"I hate that I love you. I hate that I want to turn around, grab you and never let go. I hate that this is _all_ I've ever wanted to hear for weeks, and now that I am, I don't _believe_ you." Another sob escapes my throat. "And that's because you ruined this. You walked away from all of this. I can't forgive you for that."

"Brooke, god, I'm so sorry! I take it all back. Just come here, please, just tell me its okay. Earlier today, all of that stuff I said, I didn't mean it. I swear to you, god, I didn't mean it! I never fucking meant any of it!"

I'm positive your hands are moving frantically through and over your wet curls. I'm sure your eyes are crystal green and pleading. I know that if I turn and look at you right now, I'd never have the strength to tell you what I need to.

"I'm sorry. I want you, Peyton. I probably will every day for the rest of my life, but I won't do this to myself again. I just won't. So please, _please_, just leave."

"Fine, I'll go."

I hear you walk over to the door, and then the soft padding of your converse stops.

"Know that I'll always love you, and that everyday this day will be in the back of my mind. Bye, B. Davis."

I hear your converse once again, and the padding doesn't stop until you're all the way out of the door. Then you're just gone. And once more, I'm alone.


	4. Chapter 4

I walk over to the cabinet beside of my refrigerator, open it up, and pull out a bottle absolute vodka. The coffee from earlier doesn't sound appealing any longer, I need something much stronger. After taking the cup I had out for the coffee, and filling it more than halfway with alcohol, I made my way to the couch.

Exhausted. That's how I felt. The fluffy pillows and welcoming cushions did nothing for my beaten mind. While my external self was sleepy, my internal thoughts were acting as if I had never been more awake. They were racing around my head about you, what became of us, but more than any of that; the _reason_ we became this way. The big, dramatic even that brought us to this moment. The reason I won't allow myself to walk back into your, now, more than willing arms.

One Month and Three Days Ago

Easily the worst day of my life. Well okay, that's probably a bit of an exaggeration; it was a bad day though. Bitchtoria wouldn't quit pestering me about how I needed to do at least three more sketches for the new line by the end of the week. This means I would be having zero free time, which in return means zero time for us. Whatever, she's not even an equal partner anymore. She can shove the new line up her ass.

I unlocked the front door. I saw your car in the driveway and was grateful you were home. I really wanted and needed to talk to you. I bet you'll be really surprised that I skipped out on the meeting with one of the executives to come see you. Mmm, I hope you're in the shower. That would take all of this right off my mind.

I bound up the stairs after throwing my purse and shoes down on the ground, next to the door. I was taking them two at a time. I couldn't wait to see you, and hopefully do some other things. When I reached the bedroom door, I heard your music up really loud. Some band that I really didn't like, The Constantine's, I think. That'll have to go if we do what I have planned. Maybe put on some Mariah Carey or something more sexy, I twist the knob and push the door open.

I don't think I've ever seen two people be so close to each other one minute and then so far apart the next. It amazed me, to see you move so quickly. I knew it was shock to be thinking about how fast you can move instead of what I really saw. I also knew that in a minute, if not a few seconds, I would really comprehend what happened.

"Brooke, oh my god, listen, uhm, I can explain! Just let me explain!" You stepped out of our bed, with the wrinkled and twisted sheet pulled around you, tightly. Your skin was flushed, hair a complete tangled mess, and your eyes had so much fear in them. I directed my attention on something else; more specifically someone else.

"Get the hell out of my house. If you don't get the fuck out in two seconds I am going to kick the living shit out of you. Trust me; it will be the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Leave. Now!" I walked in past you, into the connecting bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

Breathe. I needed to remember to breathe. It's hard to breathe though when the person you love more than anything, is fucking their ex, in your bed. Something like that takes the capability of breathing away. It changes you, right when it happens, you're changed.

I was in the bathroom for six songs on the record to play. That's about twenty missing I'm guessing. I decided to come out, I hadn't cried the time I spent in there, I had just thought about how shitty it was that I loved you, and you clearly never did. It's just like high school. I'm I the love triangle from hell and there's nothing I can do about it. It's funny really, I moved onto someone else, you, and still got hurt by the same damn people as before. Yeah, it's funny. I step into our bedroom and sit down on the bed.

"Brooke, god, can I explain? That thing with Lucas just now, it doesn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything; I don't even know why I did it. I'm sorry, _so_ sorry…Brooke, please say something."

What do you say to someone who you thought you knew, better than anyone, when they turn out to be the person you never expected? I didn't know.

"Sorry. You're sorry? Well since you said that, it's just fine! Yeah, I don't care that you were just _fucking_ your ex, my ex, it's actually not a big deal at all!"

"It's not like I do it all the time! People make mistakes! It was just one time, I made a mistake."

In that moment the type of anger I had changed. You were popping your knuckles; something you only do when you're lying. You were lying about it only being this once. That broke me, and suddenly I couldn't stop crying. The tears were filled with betrayal and pain and loss. Because in that moment I realized that I lost you. That from this moment on, everything was over. We were over.

"How long?" My voice was timid, afraid of what the answer was going to be.

"What do you mean how long? I told you it was this once, a mistake!" Your eyes were so big, begging me to stop asking, but I couldn't.

"You're lying, Peyton! I know you, and I know that you're lying to my face right now! How long have you been having sex with Lucas?" I stood up and got in your face. You smelled like his cologne and I thought it was going to make me throw up.

"Brooke, please, it was just once-"

"Tell me, or I'll call him and ask myself."

"…Three weeks…"

I slapped you, and I knew it would hurt. You grabbed your cheek almost immediately. Good, I needed you to feel just an ounce of the pain I felt.

"You've been sleeping with him for almost a month. That's great; I hope it was worth this. I hope that having somebody to fuck around with was worth it to you." I walked out the door, and went down the stairs; I could feel you right behind me. I needed to get away from you.

"It didn't mean anything! I was tired of being alone all the time, and Lucas was just there!"

We were on the landing, and I looked at you with such distain, I didn't even know you anymore.

"Screw you! You were being selfish. I work, Peyton. You know that, that is not an excuse to _cheat_ on me! I gave you the biggest part of me and you just went and threw it away."

"I didn't throw it away, you aren't ever home. What was I supposed to do? Sit here and wait for you?"

"_Yes_."

"We haven't had a real conversation in weeks."

"All I've ever wanted from you was to be honest with me! To talk about things, to tell me if something is wrong, did you not get that? All you ever had to do was talk to me."

"How can I talk to you, when you're never here? You did this, Brooke. You ruined this."

"You're really something, you know that? You cheat on me, but I ruined this? If I was so awful then you should have broken up with me, then had sex with Lucas."

"Yeah, you're right, I should have. But I didn't, so you know what? We're done. I'm going to stay with someone else tonight, and pack up the rest of my stuff later. Don't call me."

"Good, I'm glad we're over! I don't want to be with someone who is clearly a backstabbing, two faced bitch!"

"Fucking great!" You walked up the stairs, changed, and then you left.

I sat down on the couch, and ripped up every picture we had ever taken together in the last few years. I wanted you gone, no memories around the house, I wanted to erase you.


	5. Chapter 5

Present Time

After that day we hardly talked. There was one time when you came over to get your clothes and some of your records, which ended in a screaming match. You said I didn't know how to love, and never would. I told you that you were just like everyone else and deserved for people to always leave. I told you I hated you, and that was true, I did hate you, but after a while I started making excuses for you. I made it okay, I spent my time writing you letters, ones that were scattered around the house. I _forgave_ you. I looked at what both of us had done, saw both of our flaws. I got over the hurt of you cheating, but not the hurt of you walking out.

When the time came for me to actually take you back, to love you openly again, I said no. I think that the reason I did it, in hindsight, was because I knew you'd hurt me. Whether it be with Lucas or someone else, or in some other way, I just knew. I knew something would happen and I'd be left alone and broken again. And that's not fair, I deserve better. You deserve someone who can make you happy, and then make sure you stay like that.

It's funny, when I give up on the idea of us; you come around and want to make everything okay. You think that now it's the time to fix us. I don't know what in the world would have caused you to do that. Hell, I don't know what caused you to do any of it. All I know is that we're over and I finally accepted that.

An hour and some passes, and I'm pretty drunk again. I'm watching re-runs of The Golden Girls, and I'm laughing. It feels good, I love the way I'm feeling in this moment. I wish I could go on like this forever; carefree, relaxed, but most of all not caring about you. Then my phone rings, snapping me out of these thoughts.

I lean my arm across the couch, grab my phone and press accept. It's a number I don't know.

"Hello?" I try my very hardest not to slur.

"Ms. Davis, this is Deputy Sullivan. Peyton Sawyer has been in an accident. You were listed as her emergency contact. Could you come down to the hospital?"

Instantly sober, as soon as he said that I was _instantly_ _sober_. I didn't even think about the danger of getting in the car when I got up, shoved my shoes on and grabbed my purse, and drove there. When I got to the hospital they told me that you had suffered broken ribs, spinal fracture, and severe head trauma. The police said that you were driving too fast for the rain, which caused your to car hydroplane, and smash into a telephone pole. You were thrown from the comet, landing about fifteen feet from the crash site. It's a miracle that you're still breathing. The doctors said you'd be able to fully recover, if your body would allow it. Sometimes the trauma is just too much, the body shuts down even when it could go on.

They say time flies when you're standing still. They lied. When you're standing still time seems to not go on at all. Time stops. I was sitting in the waiting room for at least three hours. You were in surgery. I'd never been much of a prayer, or a believer at all. That day though, waiting for you, I prayed. To who, I don't know, but I hope they heard.

Two years is a long time. Twenty four months, one hundred and four weeks, seven hundred and twenty days, to be exact. When you have a job, friends, things to occupy your time those years and months and weeks and days go by without you even noticing; but when you spend your time waiting, and just thinking that time seems to stand still.

It's been that log since I've seen your eyes. It's been that long since I've talked to you, had any type of meaningful contact with you. Your body healed itself, the surgery fixed everything major, but then your body went to work repairing itself. You became whole again, but you wouldn't open your eyes. You wouldn't wake up. The doctors have their own cause as to why you won't wake up, but I have my own reasons. I think that you won't wake up because you think I'm not here. You think I'm somewhere else, living my life without you. And because of that you will stay asleep; because that's easier than waking up and living without me. If only you knew. If only you knew that I come here every day, and I tell you about my life, about how I let Millicent run the company with Victoria because I don't want to be gone if you wake up. I don't say I love you or I forgive you. I just tell you about what's happening with me, Naley and Jamie, and even Lucas. I hope your listening; I hope that one day you'll wake up so I can breathe again. And then I'll say my I love you's and my forgive you's. But I refuse to say them without you looking up at me with those bright green eyes that make my world spin.

For now though, until you wake up, I'll settle for wearing your t-shirts and buying up the bottles of shampoo and perfume you used. I'll wash my hair in the shampoo that's made for curly hair, I'll wear t-shirts of bands I despise, and I'll spray perfume, that always smells better on you, all around the house. I'll do all of that to feel close to you and I won't ever stop visiting you.

I'm afraid that you won't wake up of course. It's going on three years that you've been in a coma. Hope is low, I won't stop though. I _refuse_ to stop. I won't quit waiting on you, even if it puts me in a bed lying right next to you. My love is strong, I know we will have so many flaws to work through if you wake up, I know it won't be easy, but I'll keep going.

Peyton Sawyer was once my everything, and despite all that we've been through, and all that I've said, I know that if I'm being honest she still is.


	6. Thanks for the Support

Thank you guys for reading so much! I'm so glad you liked it. I hope to write so many more fanfcitions. I also hope you guys liked the ending, even if it's sad! Well thanks thanks thanks (:


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